#that he had to be perfectly vulnerable right then or he was being a bad person

[book-lover85]

fics where Inej tells Kaz it's ok if he can't always touch her or can't always bring his full armor down as long as he's trying >>>>>>>

[astraystayreblogs]

MY GOOOOOD I REACHED TAG LIMIT BUT I CAN'T COPE

the whole breakup, it's perfect, very sad AND MY HEART HURTS but it's so in accord to her character, like it would be foolish to expect another outcome, your reasoning for the twin flames and it being too intense, too scary to face a mirror of yourself with the good, ugly and bad IS SO RIGHT and well thought. they both love each other, but they're scared of what revealing themselves would entail- having to face their own shortcomings and take their own advice. chan is so self-giving because he feels as if he has to, or else she'd leave AND THAT THOUGHT HURTS, and her feeling as if she's taking too much from chan and not wanting history to repeat itself, like, you've created such deeply well thought characters with so many layers that show through brilliantly in their actions and words. i hope you're proud of yourself because you're a phenomenal writer.

and the phone convo with Iseul, how everything came crashing down, HOW SHE NOW FEELS COLD AFTER LEAVING CHAN'S APARTMENT AND NOT COMING BACK I WILL CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP

and then Chan's breakdown just really twisted the knife inside me,,, the good boy bit, the way he sobbed i am unwell. and Minho!!!! he was just trying to protect Chan because he knows firsthand the consequences of what his ex did to him, but he doesn't realize that he just further cemented the ugly ideas yn has of herself. the way everything crashed down was so perfectly written, just THIS IS PHENOMENAL WRITING I'm kissing your brain rn

I CAN'T WAIT FOR BB5 MY BELOVED I HOPE SHE'LL FIX MY HEART CAUSE YOU SHATTERED IT, BUT BEAUTIFULLY SO.

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?” 

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree. 

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself. 

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me. 

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths. 

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had. 

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with. 

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some. 

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own. 

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him. 

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve. 

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground. 

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. As if it was transactional, as if you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside. 

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s…

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit. 

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway. 

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else. 

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming. 

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group. 

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words. 

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer. 

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating. 

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?” 

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity. 

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully. 

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on. 

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time. 

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way. 

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him. 

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted. 

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly. 

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all. 

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake. 

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth. 

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked. 

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app. 

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not. 

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy. 

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway. 

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once. 

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did. 

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?” 

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes? The sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration? That was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained. 

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years. 

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too!” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you. 

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first. 

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out. 

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care. 

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit. 

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to finish all that work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did. 

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.” 

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?” 

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now. 

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear. 

“Do you—”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.  

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence. 

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?” 

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form. 

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole. 

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this. 

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest. 

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really. 

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail. 

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker. 

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse. 

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lied. 

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward. 

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this. 

“I’m stressed so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable. 

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right,” you said bitterly. “That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Don’t lie to me and say you wanna help me then!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you. Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty. 

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days. 

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness. 

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure. 

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“Of course.”

A deep breath. 

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night. 

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much. 

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

“Oh.” 

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I never thought of you as the type of person who’d need that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.” 

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone. 

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset. 

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips. 

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in. 

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury. 

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of hot tears down his cheeks. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears. 

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.” 

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along his back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

[igotanidea]

First time: Jason Todd x reader

A/N: despite the title and the gif there's nothing explicit in this story. :D :D

***

Your first time with Jason left you in tears.

Not because it was bad or rough or hurtful.

Quite the opposite it was all a girl could ask for. He was so careful, holding you like you were a glass doll that could shatter upon being treated too harsh. Touching you just the right way, kissing you just the right way, moving just the right way, hitting the g-spot perfectly at every thrust, creating the most satisfying pace without missing a beat.

Checking on your face expression over and over to know whether to stop to avoid crossing boundaries or to continue because your eyes were closed and lips open, breathing out his name. He didn't need to constanly ask the questions what to do or if something was good, the man could defnintely read the room.

Not to mention the mind blowing orgasm that left you panting and crying out his name in endless strings of syllables, cause saying one word on one breath was pretty much impossible.

And while he was expecting some compliments or praise, instead he got a sobbing, shaking mess with tears running down his girl's cheeks like a waterfall.

"Baby... princess, talk to me, did I do something wrong?"

Was I too hard?

Was that too much?

Did I read the signs wrong?

Did I hurt her?

DID I HURT HER!?

His mind was spinning and he had no idea how to behave or react. Words failed him once more upon seeing you in this state, fragile, vulnerable, laying on the side, your back to him with your knees to your chest and arms wrapped around your shaking form.

"Y/N ..." he whispered, snuggling closer to your form, slowly, hesitantly wrapping arms around your waist from behind, ready to withdraw at the slightest gesture of discomfort. Mentally preparing himself to be pushed away, yelled at, even slapped or scratched.

Nothing like that happened.

The second his calloused hands met with your sensitive, sweaty skin, you turned around and burried your face in his chest, unknowingly taking all the weight from his shoulders. Snuggling so close as if you were trying to melt into him, to dissappear.

And it was pretty obvious you felt safe therefore he couldn't have hurt you.

So what happened?

He had to know. He had to ask.

"Princess-" he started, tightening the grip on you, planting soft kisses on top of your head and brushing your hair in the most tender way he could produce (which was THE MOST).

"I'm okay-" you sniffled, the words muffled a bit due to the stuffy from crying nose. "I'm okay..."

'Then why-"

"Cause I never thought I could be loved like that." you pulled back looking deep into his eyes. "with all my imperfections, with all my insecurities and doubts and-"

"What?" he scoffed and laughed all the tension leaving him immediately, creating space for his usual bickering and teasing attitude. "You crazy, woman?! You thought I would be measuring your thighs or something?" he pinched her leg playfully causing her to squirm.

"Hey!" you puffed and shoved his arm playfully "do not use my sensitivity against me!"

"I would never." Jason grabbed you again and started ticlking mercilessly until those tears from before were replaced by giggles and smiles.

"Jason!" you cried out trying to cover yourself from the unexpected assault, rolling in the bed. "stop! stop! you said you won't-!"

"I never said a word" he retorted continuing the attack.

"You said-!"

"Nah, I won't be saying much any time soon. You, however-" he pinned you to the bed hovering over you and meeting your eyes with a smirk on his face "you'll be saying my name a lot. As long as I get those crazy thoughts about insecurities out of your head, baby."

And seriously, how could you say no to those pretty eyes, dexterous lips and curious hands?

[munson-blurbs]

How do you think Eddie would react to a fwb reader who uses sex as a distraction from their feelings?? Like, they’ve been having a bad week an their mental state isn’t great but heyyy there’s sex. Reader doesn’t really care about the pleasure part of sex just the distraction. Worried Eddie would feel a little used ngl :P

((Dancy dances away nervously))

I know you started this with "do you think" but my brain said WRITE A BLURB so here we are. Also shoutout @corroded-hellfire for helping me make it cute without being cliche.

Warnings: mentions of smut (18+ only, minors DNI), friends with benefits, angst/yearning, idiots in love, made it fluffy because I'm a sap

WC: 747

--

You hadn’t thought anything of it the night he’d called you “baby.” He was deep within you, melding his body with yours. Lost in the moment.

Or the night he’d mumbled, “your pussy was made for me” while slamming into you from behind. It was just dirty talk; nothing more and nothing less. 

Maybe you should have been tipped off when he’d growled, “mine,” his voice barely above a whisper as he pressed soft kisses below your earlobe. You’d figured the word, like the sex, was meaningless. 

But tonight’s comment stops you in your tracks. Your legs are wobbling beneath you, exhausted from riding him, as you step back into your pants. 

“Do you wanna, like, cuddle for a sec?”

A giggle escapes from your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten. He’s joking; he has to be. The two of you have a perfectly choreographed routine: you have a bad day, you call Eddie, you fuck, and then you leave. And his latest suggestion would definitely interfere with step four. 

When your eyes meet his, you realize that he’s serious. Hurt and confusion at your laughter crease his brows, and he tugs the sheet up a bit higher. 

“Sorry, I, um…” He shakes his head and rubs his face. “Never mind. You probably have to go anyway.”

You’re in no hurry to return home, fresh off of yet another argument with your roommate. That’s why you’d come over to Eddie’s trailer in the first place. And it isn’t as though you’d never thought about being in his strong, tattooed arms. The way he’d hold you flush against him, your cheek on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear. It’s something you’d once wanted—craved, even—but you couldn’t let vulnerability infiltrate you like that again. 

You spent high school watching him pine over the cheerleaders. He unwittingly broke your heart over and over with each woman he hooked up with at the Hideout, overlooking you despite your presence at every show. Being friends with benefits is risky enough, and post-sex snuggling will send you teetering over the edge back into the rocky terrain of unrequited love. 

And so you lean into humor as you shrug on your shirt. “I don’t think this friends-with-benefits arrangement includes cuddling.” Keeping your tone light and even, restraining every desire to crawl into bed with him. 

“Right, yeah.” He sighs and offers a sad half-smile. “It’s just…I was thinking—”

“That’s dangerous.”

He flips you off and continues. “I was thinking that maybe we could be more than that. Y’know, maybe we could have sex when you’re happy, too.” 

“I am happy when we have sex,” you counter.

Eddie shakes his head again. “I’m talking about before we do it.” He gnaws on his thumbnail. “It feels like you only want me when you have a bad day. A-And I’m glad I can be here for you and stuff, but sometimes I wonder if I’m a friend or just a good lay.”

You try to look at him when you speak, but he keeps his gaze trained on the ground. “Eddie,” you start, taking a seat next to him. His chest is slick with sweat, the soft hairs matted down. “Eddie, I had the biggest, dumbest crush on you when we were younger. And knowing I couldn’t have you tore me apart.” You let your hand rest on his. “I can’t risk having you and then losing you.”

“Losing me?” Eddie laughs softly and his free palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Look at me. Where am I going?”

“You could find someone new, someone better, someone who—”

He cuts you off with a searing kiss, remnants of your arousal still tinging his lips and tongue. “There’s no one better,” he murmurs. “You see me answering the door at two in the morning for anyone else? Think I’d miss out on precious sleep for them?” 

One arm hooks around you back and pulls you in until you assume the little spoon position. Nimble fingers undo the button of your jeans, slowly and patiently, a stark contrast to the way he’d practically torn the denim removing them earlier. 

“‘S that comfier?” He asks through a yawn.

“Mhm.” And it is. It’s the most relaxed you’ve been in a while, at least without him inside you. 

His curls tickle the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. He staves off sleep long enough to speak one last time. 

“I’m glad you’re staying, baby.”

--

[ardensregias]

the first ray of light

reverse comfort, may contain small spoilers for aventurine's backstory, may be ooc, reader and aven are in a relationship, mention of childhood trauma, abuse, slavery, aven with abandonment issues, hurt no comfort(?)

aventurine who flinches the first time you try to touch him after a bad day that left him particularly upset.

aventurine who's still on guard whenever he's vulnerable, like right now—the stratagem is quieter than usual, no longer having that smug smile on his face, the lack of life in his eyes even more noticeable when his eyes are wide—surprised at his own reaction.

aventurine who apologizes—even if he doesn't need to—then tries to reach for you, saying that he just had a 'long and exhausting day at work' and shake his head when you ask him what's wrong—the senior manager is still determined to look unbothered in front of you.

aventurine who's had tons of bad, horrible experience during his childhood, resulting in his inability to trust anyone enough, not even to show any signs of exhaustion, always putting up a mask, appearing as a mysterious and mischievous guy, keeping everyone at arm's length.

aventurine who's secretly afraid of being left alone again, of losing his purpose and being deemed as useless. the moment he flinches from you, memories of the past come back to flood his mind with doubts and reminders—reminding him of the chains binding his wrists and neck together, the cells that caged him and his kins, and the shouts of the audience fighting over his younger self, over who gets to bring the poor boy home—treating him like a rare animal, a pet to command.

aventurine who unconsciously begins to tear up, his eyes still wide and unmoving as he stares into space, your words of concern flying over his head, until you cup his face and lean closer to snap him out of his thoughts.

"you're not just 'tired', i can see that something's bothering you. won't you tell me?" oh, those eyes of yours, full of worry and love, and your gentle fingers brushing away his tears. aventurine feels so weak, but he's also scared to open up, yet he also knows you well enough to know that you're a honest person, that your concern is genuine.

aventurine who's already used to fake empathy that it feels like a dream to feel your warm hands on his face—no, not even the thought of having such a wonderful person as his partner has ever crossed the gambler's mind, not like he deserves them, right?

aventurine who's caught off guard when you pulled him into a tight hug, his arms suspended in the air and his brain that just stops working the moment your warmth spreads through his body, quickly enveloping him and slowly melting the ice encasing his heart.

it's not like he's never been hugged before, but they were purely for business reasons, merely a way to greet his acquaintances. but a hug from you? it was an effective way to make him sobs harder.

aventurine who was deprived of the love he deserves, but now he has you, his darling, who has wormed your way into his perfectly-shut heart (or so he thought) and settle yourself inside it, filling the empty space with your warmth.

maybe you could be the perfect listener, the first person he opens up to. maybe you won't leave after hearing about his gruesome past. maybe the goddess finally blessed him with your presence, who came into his life at the perfect time, to give him a reason to live again.

it was like walking into the sun， being with you，it was like walking into the sun for the first time after a terribly long winter.

[ddarker-dreams]

what would make the husband rotation genuinely mad and would they act when theyre mad?? bad vibes for everyone

upsetting chrollo is an arduous endeavor.

he values control, whether it be over himself or others. creating the troupe would've been impossible if he was easily agitated. ironically, by muting his emotions for so long, he's set himself up for failure. when they do escape the fortress he built to contain them, they're wild. their repression drained any civility chrollo pretends to have.

regarding what it takes to get to this point... a third party revealing his criminal affiliations to you would do the trick. especially if the evidence they provide is irrefutable. chrollo isn't naïve, he's always been aware of the possibility. it'd be different if your efforts unmasked his identity. sure, he wouldn't be ecstatic, but he'd feel a hint of pride over your sleuthing capabilities. he almost considers it your right, in a weird way.

this sentiment doesn't extend to another's interference. they've inserted themselves into your relationship and warped your opinion of him. it's a violation, an intrusion. chrollo comes off as unusually detached when this information reaches him. he would've preferred you confront him, so he could control the narrative and do immediate damage control. with that plan dashed, his anger will simmer, until it can scald the one who tainted your perfectly fine relationship.

gojo satoru wants to be the center of your universe.

he's selfish, he isn't content with anything less than you in your entirety. he wants to be your partner, your best friend, your rival and confidant. he's cool with your friends and family (wow thanks gojo), since he knows that ultimately, you're both close in a way few can understand. shoko tells him at point blank that he's overdependent on you. he's aware, he just doesn't care to fix it. he's shameless enough to admit it as much without remorse.

for this reason, should someone capable of exerting influence over you stumble onto the scene, he would not be happy. megumi (kid or teen) remarks that he gets this 'creepy look', like he's pretending to be human. if he released a mere tendril of the cursed energy writhing inside him, it'd be enough to render most sorcerers comatose. his vibes become that abominable.

whether it be a former mentor, childhood friend, or some other role he can't fulfill for you himself — he wants to create as much distance between them and you as possible. fortunately for him, simply being himself is enough to repel most people. gojo inserts himself into your conversations until this person catches the hint. after knowing him for so long, you've grown immune to his questionable boundary crossing. he'll keep at it until they're scared off.

scaramouche gets angry with you for making him fall in love.

had his chest cavity not been empty, he would've clawed his heart out to avoid this harrowing feeling. the timidity, the vulnerability, oh, how he loathes it; loathes you for the spell you've placed him under! this resentment is, in truth, mostly directed at himself. shouldn't he have learned his lesson by now? how many times must he be chewed up and spit out before he stops wandering into the maw of emotional connection? he resolves himself to kill this... whatever it is you both share, before he's dragged through disappointment once again. he'll work himself up into a frenzy, all righteous anger and crackling bitterness—

—then your eyes light up at the sight of him, his name a warm exclamation on your tongue. in an instant, he's pacified, like he'd undergone a lobotomy. what a lovesick fool he is. you won't even let him fester in his negativity, you keep flitting about, earning his undivided attention. it's embarrassing how giddy he is around you (though he hides it beneath snark and condescension). when the interaction ends, he's left torn on what to do. all he knows is that he's running out of excuses to make this your fault.

blade's fury could slice through stars if you were ever hurt.

his mara is voracious until he returns every ounce of your pain tenfold. it's a scene from hell; rivers of blood, shredded limbs, piles of corpses tall enough to be mistaken for towers. in the heat of battle, he occasionally forgets where he is or why he's even doing this. then, all it takes is his mind's eye flashing the image of your face contorted in pain for his mania to blaze anew. you're precious. kind, warm, bestowing care upon him that he hadn't experienced in centuries. annihilation awaited anyone or anything that threatened you. he thinks death is too good for them, but it's the punishment he delivers best.

this explosive rage isn't finite. once his sword is deprived of living prey, he's forced to endure silence. entropy. an all-pervasive thought that you'd be better off with another. he never understood why you blessed him of all people with your affection. upon wiping his weapon clean, his reflection greets him. he scarcely looks human. drenched in viscera, eyes bloodshot and crazed. is this the man you love? what would you think, if you could see him now?

he almost wishes the fury would return. it's preferable to the hollowness he now faces.

[outlaw-apologist]

Meant To Be {Logan x Reader}

A/N: I got stood up last night so here is a comfort story about Logan saving the reader from heartbreak after getting stood up. lol Contains: Fem!Reader. fluff. Reader is part of the X-Men AO3 Link ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Standing in front of your mirror, your heart swelling with excitement as you admired your reflection. The green dress you had chosen hugged your figure perfectly, its color making your eyes stand out even more. Your hair cascaded in soft waves down your shoulders, and your makeup was flawless. Tonight, you felt beautiful, maybe even radiant—something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time. A sense of anticipation buzzed through you as you gave yourself one last twirl.

"Not bad," you whispered with a small, hopeful smile. You had spent all week looking forward to this date, letting yourself believe, just for once, that things could go right. After all the heartache, the disappointments, the feeling that you were always waiting for something better—tonight felt like it could finally be different. Maybe someone could love you. Maybe there was something more to life than the loneliness you’ve harbored for all these years.

Checking your phone, your smile faltered as you realized the time. He was late. Not terribly so, but late enough to plant the first seed of doubt. Maybe he got stuck in traffic, you thought, trying to stay positive. Or maybe he was just as nervous as you had been while getting ready.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you fiddled with the hem of your dress, your eyes flicking to your phone every few minutes. The excitement that had filled you earlier was slowly being replaced by a sinking feeling in your chest. Minutes dragged on, and with every passing moment, that small hope you had nurtured began to wither. The messages you sent stayed unread. The minutes turned into an hour. Your heart tightened as the realization settled in—you had been stood up.

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you stood up and moved to the window, staring blankly out into the city lights. They shimmered in the distance, indifferent to the turmoil bubbling inside you. You hugged yourself tightly, trying to fight the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. All the effort you’d put into tonight, all the hope you had dared to feel—it suddenly felt so foolish, so humiliating.

But the tears came anyway. Silent and slow, they streaked down your cheeks, each one heavier than the last. You wiped them away hastily, trying to regain control, when a knock on the door startled you.

"Y/N? You in there?"

Logan’s gruff voice cut through the quiet, his tone softer than usual. You froze, heart skipping a beat. Of all people, Logan was the last person you wanted to see you like this—vulnerable, broken. You hesitated for a moment, contemplating pretending you weren’t there, but something about the sound of his voice made you want to let him in.

"Yeah... I’m here," you finally called out, your voice shakier than you intended.

The door opened slowly, and Logan stepped in, his eyes immediately taking in the sight of you standing by the window in your dress, eyes red and puffy from crying. His expression darkened, concern etched across his rugged features.

"You okay, kid?" he asked, his voice gentle, as if he already knew the answer.

You forced a weak smile, trying to brush away the vulnerability that clung to you. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just... waiting on someone."

Logan’s eyes flicked to the bed, the phone on the bedside table, and then back to you. He crossed his arms, his expression softening but not losing its edge of skepticism. "Doesn’t look like it’s goin’ too well."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping away another tear that had slipped down your cheek. "No. Not really."

There was a silence between you, heavy and full of unspoken understanding. Logan could read you too well—he didn’t need you to say anything. His eyes, usually so hard and guarded, softened as they met yours.

"He didn’t show, did he?" Logan asked quietly, a trace of anger lacing his words. It wasn’t aimed at you, but at the guy who had dared to hurt you.

You shook your head, feeling the tears threaten to spill again. "No... he didn’t."

Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw his hands clench into fists. But when he looked back at you, his expression was filled with something else—something protective. "That guy’s a damn fool."

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but chuckle through the tears. It was a sad, tired laugh, but it felt good to let it out. "I just... I thought maybe this time would be different, you know? That maybe I could have one good night. Guess I was wrong."

Logan stepped forward, placing a strong but gentle hand on your shoulder. His touch was grounding, and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel quite so alone. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ somethin’ good, kid. But don’t let some jackass make you feel like you’re not enough."

You sniffed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I just feel so stupid... getting all dressed up for someone who couldn’t even bother to show."

Logan’s hand lingered on your shoulder before falling away. He looked you over, taking in the effort you had put into the night, and something in his expression softened even more. "You look beautiful, Y/N. Any guy who can’t see that isn’t worth your time."

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache in a different way, a warmth spreading through your chest. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a split second, you saw something deeper in his eyes. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, but it left a mark.

"Come on," Logan said, nodding toward the door. "We’re gettin’ outta here."

You blinked, confused. "What? Where are we going?"

"Anywhere but here," he smirked. "Not lettin’ you waste a perfectly good outfit sittin’ around cryin’ over some loser."

You blinked again, surprised by the sudden turn of events, but the warmth in your chest grew. A smile tugged at your lips despite the lingering sadness. "Okay... but only if you promise not to let me mope all night."

Logan chuckled, already heading for the door. "Deal. Now grab your jacket. It’s cold out."

Logan’s sweet words caused your heart to shake with happiness in your rib-cage. It was endearing how he didn’t want you to be cold… Didn’t want you to cry… Though he had his moments, he was often quite sweet, you thought. You couldn’t help but smile as you followed Logan down the hallway, your earlier tears drying in the warmth of his presence. The night had taken an unexpected turn, but somehow, it felt like the kind of evening you needed after all. Logan had a way of grounding you, reminding you that even when things didn’t go as planned, there was always a way to turn it around.

"Where are we going?" you asked, pulling on your jacket as you stepped outside into the cool night air.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, that familiar, ever-calm expression on his face. "You’ll see."

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional crunch of gravel beneath your boots and the soft hum of the night. You tried not to dwell on your disappointment, instead focusing on the peacefulness of the moment. With Logan, you didn’t feel the pressure to fill the silence. He wasn’t one for small talk, but there was something reassuring in his presence.

After a short walk, you stopped in front of a small, cozy diner tucked away from the busier parts of town. The neon sign above the entrance flickered, casting a warm glow over the entrance. You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the choice.

"A diner?" you asked, your smile teasing. "You sure know how to impress a girl, Logan."

He shrugged, smirking in that way that only Logan could. "Best coffee in town. Besides, I wasn’t gonna let you sit around hungry all night."

You laughed softly, following him inside. The interior was simple, with red vinyl booths and the smell of fresh coffee and pie filling the air. It wasn’t fancy, but it had a charm that felt right. You slid into a booth by the window, and you couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you felt. You didn’t have to impress anyone here. Not Logan, not yourself. You could just… be.

A waitress appeared shortly after, smiling warmly at you both as she handed over the menus. "What can I get you two?"

"Coffee," Logan said gruffly, barely glancing at the menu.

You took a little longer, feeling a bit more cheerful now that you were settled in. "I’ll take a hot chocolate. And... maybe a slice of pie?" Comfort food was definitely needed after the night you were having.

Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Go on, you deserve it. Get two."

You grinned, leaning back in your seat. "If I got two, you’d have to wheel me out of here. I think I’d go into a coma." You laughed, causing Logan to snort in response. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ll just sling you over my shoulders.” “Like a sack of potatoes.” You didn’t miss the little smirk that crossed Logan’s face. “And they say romance is dead.”

Once the waitress had gone, you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. Logan was sitting across from you, and though he didn’t say much, his presence alone was enough to make you feel better. The disappointment of earlier was starting to fade, replaced by something lighter—something hopeful.

"So," Logan said after a while, breaking the silence. "This guy you were supposed to meet... how’d you even come across him?"

You chuckled, tracing the rim of your hot chocolate mug. "Online, believe it or not. He seemed nice at first, but I guess I was wrong about that. You live and learn, right?"

Logan grunted, taking a sip of his coffee. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with puttin’ yourself out there, but… next time, make sure he’s got some guts before you waste your time."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted. I’ll make sure to ask if they can handle a mutant before agreeing to dinner."

Logan’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Good plan."

You sat in comfortable silence after that, your conversation punctuated only by the arrival of the pie. Logan ate with his usual no-nonsense approach, while you savored each bite, the warmth of the dessert matching the cozy atmosphere of the diner.

"You know," you began, tapping your fork against the plate, "I never expected tonight to turn out like this. But I think I like this version better."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, your voice soft but sure. "I don’t know, it just feels… real. No pressure. No trying to impress someone who doesn’t care. Just good company and good food."

Logan’s expression softened, though he tried to hide it. "Guess that’s what you deserve, then."

You looked at him, your heart swelling a little at his words. There was a sincerity in the way he said it, like he really believed you deserved better than what you’d been given. It was the kind of affirmation you hadn’t realized you needed. And hearing it from him—someone you admired, someone you felt a deep connection to—meant more than you could say.

"You know," you said, feeling bold, "you’re not so bad at this date thing."

Logan snorted, leaning back in the booth. "Wasn’t tryin’ to be. Just figured you needed to get outta your own head for a while."

"Mission accomplished," you teased, taking another sip of your hot chocolate. "But seriously, Logan… thanks. For being here tonight."

He gave a small nod, looking down at his cup. "You don’t gotta thank me for that."

"But I want to," you insisted gently. "I know you’re not the type to get all sentimental, but it means a lot to me that you stepped in when you did. I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise."

Logan didn’t respond right away, but when he finally spoke, his voice was low and gruff, yet filled with something warmer than you’d expected. "Just didn’t want to see you hurtin’, is all."

Your heart fluttered at the honesty behind his words. You smiled, feeling a deep sense of appreciation for him—not just for saving your night, but for always being there, in his own quiet, steadfast way.

You spent the rest of the night talking in that cozy little diner, exchanging stories and moments of comfortable silence, until eventually, the conversation slowed, and the world outside seemed to grow quieter.

When you finally stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you once more, and you found yourself standing close to Logan, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

"Not the worst night after all," you said softly, glancing up at him.

Logan grunted in agreement, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. "Could’ve been worse."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you began walking back toward the mansion. "You know, for someone who’s not trying to be romantic, you’re pretty good at it."

He smirked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Don’t get used to it."

You grinned, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked side by side. "No promises."

As you walked beside Logan through the quiet night, a swirl of emotions tugged at you. His presence was like a beacon in the dark, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. The sadness from earlier still lingered, but being near him seemed to dull the edges of that pain. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

You stole a glance at him, the dim streetlights casting shadows over his rugged, sharp features. He didn’t say much—he never did—but his actions spoke volumes. When everything had crumbled tonight, he was there, pulling you from the depths of your hurt without a second thought. His quiet strength, that gruff tenderness, was something you had grown to depend on more than you cared to admit. And with every step you took, you could feel something building, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

You swallowed hard as the mansion’s gates loomed ahead, your heart beating louder in your chest. This was more than just a walk back to the mansion; it felt like a moment suspended in time. The air between you was thick with unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings. You stopped when Logan did, standing together in the quiet. The silence was heavy now, the weight of what you wanted to say pressing on your chest.

“Logan…” Your voice came out softer than you intended, thick with the emotions you were struggling to contain.

He looked down at you, his eyes steady but unreadable. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

You hesitated, feeling the lump in your throat tighten. Every instinct screamed to hold back, to keep your feelings buried like you always had. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not after tonight. You took a small step toward him, your heart hammering in your chest. "I just…"

Logan’s gaze softened, as if sensing your inner turmoil. “What is it?”

The words failed you, your pulse quickening as you stood on the edge of a choice you couldn’t undo. Instead of answering, you raised your hand, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek. The contact was electric, sending a shock of warmth through you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was hesitant at first, almost uncertain. You could feel the rapid thumping of your heart, afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand found its way to your lower back, warm and firm, drawing you closer. The kiss deepened, a restrained intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was as though he’d been holding back just as much as you had, and now, everything was pouring out in this stolen moment.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths came in shallow gasps, your heart racing faster than ever before. You blinked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and wonder. You had kissed him. Logan. And he had kissed you back.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging thickly in the air. You could feel your cheeks flushing, heat creeping up your neck as the gravity of the moment settled over you.

Logan’s voice, low and gravelly, cut through the quiet. "Y/N…”

You braced yourself, waiting for him to say something that would make sense of the chaos swirling inside you. But instead, he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. His chin came to rest on the top of your head, and in that moment, everything else fell away. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you standing in the cool night air.

You melted against his chest, your arms winding around his waist as you let out a shaky breath. His hold was firm, grounding, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. He didn’t need to say much—he never did—but in this embrace, you felt more than words could ever express.

"I didn’t mean to…" you started, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. But Logan’s grip tightened slightly, silencing your nervous explanation.

“You don’t gotta explain,” he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble in the night. “I get it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they weren’t born of sadness. They came from the overwhelming sense of relief, of belonging, that washed over you. Logan had always been a constant in your life, someone you admired deeply. But now, as he held you, it became clear that your feelings went beyond admiration. They had always run deeper, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this.

“Logan…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Is this… okay?”

His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. His eyes, softer than you had ever seen them, locked onto yours. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with sincerity. “It’s more than okay.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, the tension from the night lifting like a weight off your chest. You stood on your toes, pressing your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering closed as you let the quiet comfort of the moment wrap around you.

The night hadn’t gone the way you expected. You had been stood up, hurt, left feeling vulnerable in a way you hadn’t in a long time. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not here. Not with Logan. In his arms, everything else faded away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the quiet understanding that, somehow, you had found exactly where you were meant to be. ______ Next Logan Story (Smut)

[queenshelby]

Business As Usual (Part Three)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Wife!Reader

Warning: Dubious Consent, Reluctant Smut, Loss of Virginity, Arranged Marriage, Religious Themes, Angst, Termination, Pregnancy 

Words: 3,500

NOTE: THIS IS MUCH DARKER THAN WHAT I USUALLY WRITE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

*** The Consummation of Marriage***

“Alright Love. Why the fuck not” Tommy said as his gaze dropped.

“You will give me the US division of the business?” you ought to clarify before retreating slightly and placing your half empty glass onto the nearby study desk.

“What fucking choice do I have, eh?” Tommy then asked and, by this point, he was already awfully close to you.

“Okay. Right. Now, should I get myself ready so that…” you then stammered a little nervously, causing Tommy to furrow his eyebrows.

“Ready for what?” he wondered and, again, you nervously stammered out an explanation.

“We just talked about this, Thomas” you began to say but he interrupted you.

“We did, and I do not want to draw this out for any longer than I have to. Let’s just get it over and done with, eh?” Tommy asked and, of course, you agreed.

“That’s perfectly fine by me” you thus said, trying to appear confident whereas, the truth was, that you were not.

“Good” Tommy said. “Now, turn around” he ordered and this caught you by surprise.

“Excuse me?” you asked as you weren’t sure what he wanted you to do.

“Turn around. It will be quicker that way” he then said and, again, you nodded, this time more reluctantly than before.

“Sure” you said almost nervously before turning around and placing your palms on to the large desk now in front of you, waiting for what was to come next.

But, what came next surprised you as, suddenly, you felt your husband’s hands on your back, pushing your upper body down until your clothed breasts laid flat against the cold oak.

And then his weight was against your back, his hands on your hips, and you began to wonder how someone so lean could be so strong when you felt it.

“Are you sure about this Love?” he then asked again and affirmed that this was indeed what you wanted.

“I am sure, although I didn’t expect it to happen quite like this” you then told him and Tommy chuckled slightly.

“Listen Love, you asked me to make it quick and I can assure you that it will be quick, but only if we do it my way. I have no desire to make love to you. I will simply fuck you and then I will be on my way. Now, do I have your consent?” Tommy then asked and you, again, gave your consent.

“Yes. You have my consent” you said, holding back your tears just as your husband bunched your skirt up in his hands and pulled it up.

“Your ass is actually not that bad” Tommy then said almost cheekily while you gasped at the sudden feeling of air on your upper thighs as he flipped the fabric over your back, exposing your lace covered panties.

“Just shut up and do what you need to do” you responded while still fighting your tears. You were glad that he couldn’t see your face like this as, clearly, you had no intention of appearing vulnerable to him.

“I was just giving you a compliment Love” Tommy chuckled before, in one hard move, he pulled your underwear all the way down your thighs.

“I don’t need compliments from you, although a warning would have been nice” you gasped as you moved away from him slightly but Tommy quickly grabbed your hips and adjusted your position again.

He brought you further back towards him and yanked your legs apart slightly before instructing you to stay still.

“Don’t move” he growled just before his hand went right in between your legs and he ran a finger through your slit.

You winced at his touch and, whilst it felt interesting to be touched by someone else other than yourself, you were not aroused and were not quite sure what he was looking for but whatever it was, he did not find it.

“You're barely wet at all, Love” Tommy then said just as you heard the clink of his belt being undone.

“Am I meant to be?” you asked as, by now, your heart threatened to fly out of your chest.

“Considering the circumstances, probably not” Tommy then said while undoing his zipper and pushing down his pants and brief in go.

Unlike you, he was aroused but then again, getting aroused was not exactly difficult for him. He was a sex driven individual and visited local brothels quite frequently for easy and problem free relief.

Thus, he was also rather experienced and knew what needed to be done for a woman to enjoy herself although, with you, he seemingly couldn’t be bothered as, without loosing any time, he licked his fingers before applying his saliva onto your somewhat dry core so that he could penetrate you more easily.

It was at this time that, finally, the tears came in full force and, after Tommy removed his hand from you, you felt something hot and hard parting the lips of your slit.

It felt strange to say the least and you always expected your first time to be different and romantic in a way. You might have never been with a man, but you were a woman grown and had touched yourself before which, too, felt different.

At times, you even slid your own fingers inside of your body, but nothing compared to this as your husband pushed against your opening.

Now, all you could feel was burning until, eventually, your pussy gave in with a surge of pain.

You bit your tongue, teeth clenching, as Tommy penetrated you from behind and the tears did not stop, which luckily for you, he couldn’t see.

“Fuck Love, you are tight” Tommy said as you felt every painful centimetre of his cock being forced into you. The sensation was like sandpaper against your insides as, unceremoniously, you felt him ripping through your maidenhead.

The pain was a stab all the way from the innermost parts of you and, just as you swallowed your gasp, your knees began to give way.

There was no getting out of this now so you closed your eyes, clenched your jaw, and tried to just get through it.

Eventually, you felt Tommy’s hips touch your rear while, at the same moment, you felt him reach something deep inside your core.

“Please, just hurry up. I am not exactly enjoying this” you pleaded as Tommy ground his hips against you while the head of his cock nestled against your cervix, sending another wave of pain across your abdomen.

“It would be easier if you were stop moving around” Tommy then told you as he pulled out slightly and then pushed back in, hitting that spot inside again.

Every time he bottomed out inside of you, Tommy groaned but all you could register was the hard wall against your front and the burning ache in your privates growing momentarily sharp every time he thrust, even though he was not rough or too fast. In and out, in and out, dry drag and burning push, until a few minutes later the pain began to dull just the slightest bit, which you supposed meant your body had finally caught up and decided to help.

After a while, Tommy had picked up a little speed, with the new aid of your wetness. The pain in your entrance dulled slightly and left your vividly aware of the pain of that spot inside, low in your stomach.

“Just a little bit more Love. I am almost there” he groaned and panted behind you but you could not say anything and simply tried to focus on something else.

Somewhere in the pain and the shame, you felt lost. You just wanted this to be over and, luckily for you, after just a few minutes of thrusting in and of you, Tommy was close. The sounds he made were growing more and more heated and, by what you could feel inside of you, Tommy had began to really pick up speed now.

"I'm close” he eventually said. His voice was hoarse by now, near a pan and, with all the pain, you had no words left.

Eventually though you cried out inadvertently as, with one deep thrust, Tommy groaned loudly and hilted himself all the way inside. He forced his cock into you hardly and the force pushed you on your toes, stabbing that spot inside of you with all his might.

“Fuck” he groaned as he came and you knew that had spilled himself inside of you as you felt the wicked warmth of his cum spreading across your burning walls.

When he was done, he sighed. He was content and spent and, after a few moments, he rocked his hips. And again. Slowly, gently, a little thrust, then another, pushing his seed deeper inside of you.

You whined. The pain might have dulled, but it hadn't stopped and, when he finally pulled out of you, you sighed with relief whereas Tommy, on the other hand, was met with shock and regret.

“Fuck Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked almost angrily as he noticed the streaks of blood that had mixed with his cum, covering both his cock and your pussy.

“Tell you what?” you asked after wiping your tears away.

“That I am your first! Fuck! I would have been…” Tommy yelled after cleaning himself off, pulling up his pants and slamming his fist onto the desk just before you interrupted him.

“You would have been more careful or little bit gentle perhaps?” you chuckled, wiping away the tears that you were unable to hold back.

“Yes. Obviously” Tommy sighed before handing you his handkerchief. Let’s talk about this” he then said but you shook your head.

“Talk about what? There is nothing to talk about Thomas! It had to be done and I didn’t want you to have pity on me. This is a business transaction now. No more and no less” you told him and this comment you made irritated him even more.

“Fine” he said before walking towards the door. “You are fucking insane, you know that? Perhaps Pol was wrong about you” Tommy then spat and slamming the door behind him as he left.

Just as he had left however, you just cried against the wall, trying to ignore the warm wet feeling inside of you and trying to ignore his words.

Did he actually care about you? Did you, just perhaps, push him too far?

*** Backflash to Wedding Reception ***

For some reason, you despised him and it was your new aunt Pol who had given you hope just after you told her that you may as well be dead. Obviously, she spoke with your husband as well and this made you wonder.

Polly Gray was her name and she assured you during the wedding reception that Thomas was not as terrible as you had thought. According to her, your new husband was known to do bad things to a good end and him marrying you was just that.

He tried to look after his family and the business by making this deal and, according to her, he offered your family many things in order to get out of this marriage, all of which they refused.

“It must be a mafia thing” she said as she knew that your mother and uncles wanted him to marry your older sister but ended up marrying you instead. You wanted to protect her after all she had been through in the past and you knew that, even though you were the youngest sibling in your family, you were also the mature and smartest.

Your father had always called you a “gifted fighter” and told you that, unfortunately for your family, neither your brother nor your cousins or uncles possessed what it took to run this business.

He wanted to take his drug and liquor empire to another level and this was exactly where Thomas Shelby came into the picture.

Unbeknownst to you, Thomas and your father had worked together for more than six years after Thomas killed a man by the name of Luca Changratta.

Luca Changratta was a rival business man who did what Tommy was doing now, and it was your father who had put the mechanisms into place to unite the families following his death. It was a smart thing to do as the Shelbies weren’t Italian and, just like your father, aunt Polly told you that Thomas was a man of his word.

“You will see that he won’t bother you much Love. He will not touch you unless you want him to and you will have all the luxuries you can imagine” Polly said before realising herself that this is not what you wanted.

“I don’t like being reduced to someone’s wife and I certainly don’t care about diamonds and pretty dresses” you explained before telling her outright that it was your father’s business that you were after.

“Then make this marriage work to your advantage. Tommy is a business man and you may work well together” she told you but you shook your head.

“I doubt that very much. The sheer fact that he married me for financial gain means that our values do not align” you explained while taking yet another sip from your glass of champagne.

“That may not be true Y/N. Unlike your family, my family likes to empower women and, if you go about it the right way, then perhaps you can work with us as part of our company as well as your father’s company” Polly explained but, again, you shook your head.

“My uncles won’t allow that” you chuckled, seeing that, at least in your family, women were frowned upon.

“With Tommy being part of your family now, they will soon realise that they have lost all authority over their businesses. He has his ways of making people bend to his will and, if you play your cards right, they will bend to yours also” Polly then suggested and you wondered why she was being so nice to you.

“Why are you telling me this?” you thus asked and she explained.

“Because you are smart and us women need to work together in order to conquer the world” she told you and this well and truly made you smile for the first time that night.

“Well Miss Gray, you are quite unlike any other woman I have met”

“Call me Polly, Love. We are family now”

“Not quite yet. There is still one thing that has to be done which I am not looking forward to”

“Tommy wouldn’t lay a hand on you Love”

“If he want’s this marriage then, I am afraid, he will have to” you told your new aunt just as the clock stroke nine and the announcement was made that the ceremony was about to come to end.

It was now time for you to consummate the union with your new husband while the guests had the option to leave the party or stay in the function hall of your new mansion, which was located just outside of London.

“You must be joking?” your aunt asked as your mother asked her elected witness to come forward and you quickly managed to down a glass of whiskey at this point.

“No, I am afraid not. It’s a tradition that came to fruition a few hundred years ago and for some fucked up reason it is still practised by my family and their congregation to this day” your explained a slightly tipsy state, knowing that you needed alcohol to get through this.

“That’s ironic really, considering that your very own family uses the churches in Boston and Chicago to store their cocaine. Surely, they can’t be that fanatic” Polly exclaimed just as Tommy came by, followed right by the woman who was your long standing family doctor.

“What is going?” Tommy asked, causing Polly to grin.

“Apparently you get to consummate your marriage now, so have fun” she joked, but Tommy simply rolled his eyes.

“Funny” he said before trying to walk off again, which is when you reached for his hand.

“She isn’t joking I am afraid” you sighed before making Tommy follow you to your material bedroom.

*** The Present Day ***

And there you were, crying again, as the memories of recent weeks came crawling back into your mind.

You recalled your rather painful wedding night and how your husband left the house for an entire week thereafter without even bothering to introduce you to his son.

You recalled how your very own husband then decided not to keep his promise to you. He took away the import and export division of your business and, instead, he put a woman called Laura Manning into charge. Now, he was even sleeping with her and, whilst you did not mind him sleeping with whores, this was the ultimate betrayal for you.  

And then, finally, you recalled that horrible morning two weeks ago, when you woke up nauseous and unable to eat.

It was that same awful morning that you found out that you were with child and you never told anyone, not even your husband.

There was only one person who knew and this was the man you trusted more than those in your own family. He was a doctor in London and you had worked with him on several charity projects downtown, including a new hospital that had been sponsored by the Grace Shelby Foundation.

Charity work kept you sane as it was the only kind of work your husband permitted you to do and it was now also the kind of work that made you befriend this stranger named Frank.

But even Frank refused to help you now and you knew that, what you were asking him to do, was illegal.

You had asked him to terminate your pregnancy. You could not bear carrying Thomas Shelby’s child after all he had done to you but there was no one who was willing to take the risk and carry out this dangerous procedure.

In the same vein, you also wanted a divorce but there was also no lawyer who was willing to take the case and your husband was very well aware of that.

You were stuck and wondered whether, somehow, you could go away and leave this life behind after just a few weeks but then you thought about it again.

You were much stronger than that and you knew that you would not allow a man to ruin you.

You were a “gifted fighter” and putting up a fight was what you were going to do.

***

With that in mind, you made your way to London and, in London, you sought out a woman who you knew nothing about. Her name was Elizabeth Stark and, just a year ago, she divorced your very own husband.

You wrote to her after finding out about your pregnancy and she agreed to meet with you after having had a letter delivered to you through Frank’s address.

She was cautious, of course, but she also knew that you needed her help and possibly some guidance.

When you met her in a café, you were rather surprised. She was dressed nicely and looked incredibly attractive. She featured dark curly hair and her skin was white as snow.

“I am Y/N” you said, having recognised her from the photographs which you found in Tommy’s office.

“Call me Lizzie” she said after offering you a seat.

“You are much younger than I had expected. I am truly surprised that Tommy…you know…never mind…” she then acknowledged and, of course, it was at this point that you told her that your marriage to Tommy didn’t came about out of love. It was a marriage that had formed part of a business deal and this information made Lizzie sigh deeply.

“It’s never love for Tommy. He loved Grace but he isn’t going to love anyone else and the sooner you realise that, the happier you will be. Tommy is all about business and money and fucking whores. He won’t ever care about you just as he never really cared about me” Lizzie then explained with great frustration and you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved about hearing this from someone else. According to her, he married her because she was pregnant with his child and felt as though it was the right thing to do for his political image.

“What happened to your child?” you asked and, as you did, Lizzie broke out in tears.

“Our daughter died of consumption and fucking Tommy…” she began to say before gathering her thoughts. “Don’t ever have children with him. He loves them, but wherever he goes, there will always be danger” she then warned you and you immediately shed a few tears as well.

“I am pregnant” you admitted. “I don’t want to be, but I am. I don’t know what to do” you then sobbed and Lizzie took your hands into hers.

“Do you want to terminate?” she asked gently and you nodded.

“No one will do it. They are all too afraid of Tommy” you explained, crying.

“I know someone who will do it, but you can never tell Tommy, understood?” Lizzie asked and, of course, you nodded again.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[adragonsfriend]

Use this one trick to instantly fix all childhood trauma (Jedi Masters don’t want you to know this)!!!!!

That is what every “if Obi-Wan had just— *adds one extra scene to canon* —then Anakin would’ve had perfect mental health and never listened to Palpatine at all,” sounds like to me. Look I am not an expert on any kind of psychology at all let alone early childhood development but,

It is possible to do your very best to help or raise someone and still have bad or imperfect outcomes, especially when you have someone actively, secretly working against you (cough cough Sith Lord of the month cough), (for many reasons, but in this case particularly), because unravelling the mindset built in early childhood is hard, actually.

Coming at this from the “raised in a safe and loving environment” side of things, it took me years to figure out and internalize that my friends whose parents weren’t as great as mine were functioning in an entirely different landscape when it came to their interactions with adults.

Many years ago when I was in middle school a friend (acquaintance? idk I think most people thought I was annoying) told me that her ankle kept giving out and causing her pain. I asked if she'd told her parents so she could rest or go to the doctor. She told me she had, but her mother either hadn't listened or refused to help. My (approximate) responses?

"So it's not actually that bad then?"

"You should tell her again."

"Are you sure you explained it right?"

The only explanation I could comprehend at the time was that there must have been some unclear communication about the situation or its severity--if her mother had understood she was in pain, she couldn't possibly have just not done anything about it? Adults are responsible, caring, etcetera! They wouldn't do that?!

With more experience, I've come to understand better, and learned to respond in kinder, more helpful ways, but the shift in mindset was not and is not intuitive.

And I had the luxury of figuring all that out whilst being safe myself. Coming from the other direction, being in danger and trying to figure out why other people act like the world is safe? I can't say for sure, but I imagine it’s a lot more complicated.

Point with regard to Star Wars being, it really is harder for Anakin, coming in later, to acclimate to the Jedi ways and thought processes than it is for his peers who grew up in the safe environment of the Temple. And whatever arguments people want to have about how much psychology and therapy exist in the Star Wars universe, or how much “Jedi just do cognitive behavioral therapy” (not totally inaccurate, but reductive on several levels), no matter what the answers to those questions, it will still be harder for Anakin.

There is a reason the council changes its mind on training him only after he is suddenly famous and the Sith are proven to be back. When Anakin was not in significant danger of being snatched up by someone else, it was genuinely probably the easier and safer option—for him and everyone else—for him to live a different life.

The Jedi are not necessarily fully prepared for a child with Anakin's history, and, there is nothing bad about living an ordinary life. Anakin would not have been somehow unforgivably robbed by living life as a mechanic or an engineer or something, rather than being a Jedi.

Anakin is a victim of many things in his life—Sidious, Watto, Gardulla, Tatooine’s everything, his own conscious choices—but he is not a victim of malice, incompetence, or idiocy by the Jedi just because they couldn't—in only a decade or so—help him fully and perfectly unravel the mindset he developed in his early childhood. If there was any lack of qualification on their part, it was one they were aware of—but which was outweighed by the danger of little Anakin getting kidnapped out of normal-kid elementary school.

Being brought up in and around slavery absolutely made him more vulnerable to Sidous and became the basis of their dynamic as master and apprentice. Acting like the trauma that affects his mindset and actions for his entire life can be obliterated just by making minimal changes to the plot is wild to me.

And don’t get me wrong, fics and headcanons can do whatever they want, not everyone wants or is trying to write a deep psychological character study (also fanfic and even fiction in general cannot and should not be held to any standard of realism if it's not serving the story and the author)—simple fix-it’s (my love) are fun and an excellent short-cut to other things like happiness and fluff (my other loves)—but don’t act serious about the idea that adding one conversation about his feelings or one extra explanation about Jedi philosophy would automatically lead to Anakin having perfect mental health outcomes and always making good decisions.

Disclaimer (if the ones throughout weren't enough) : please go forth and do whatever you want. the moral of this post is actually just that (1) you won’t convince me, (2) I wanted to talk about this, (3) the clickbait title was too funny not to post, (4) i literally can't open my mouth without phrasing things like i'm in the middle of a heated debate, and (5) i continue to not be an expert in early childhood development—my evidence is very literally anecdotal

[saerins]

─── 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋

+ jing yuan x f!reader | wc 1.9k | content: fluff, established relationship, slightly suggestive

notes: this is it babes , i’m hopelessly down bad for this man and it’s been what … a week ? help !! but also , first shot at him so i hope this isn’t too ooc or anything >_< rbs appreciated muwah !!

summary: where you come to realise that jing yuan can be just like you, in all the good ways.

jing yuan is a busy, busy man.

but surely it isn’t that selfish for you to wish that all mornings are like this? this; with your boyfriend by your side past ten in the morning, half-naked under your covers and sound asleep. luckily, he doesn’t have any urgent matters to look into today and fu xuan has told you to make sure he gets enough rest today before the pace picks up again.

apparently, he’d worked himself ragged the past week and earns even the worry of the master diviner herself.

when he’s not general, when the armor comes off and the vulnerability switches on—jing yuan’s your boyfriend, and a very doting one, at that. the kind who spoils you endlessly with what he can, the one who’s quick to notice your every behaviour and tendencies, no matter how big or small.

the sunlight slips past the curtains, a sliver falling perfectly onto his face and down his arms. jing yuan is facing you, eyes closed, hair down and looking every bit the perfect specimen of a man.

that’s why you can’t help yourself, can’t help running your index finger down the line of his triceps, down to his forearms, appreciating the way the goosebumps sear delicately across his skin. you can faintly see the scar across his chest—an outcome of his earlier days ravaging battlefields, before he became general.

you still remember the small conversation the two of you had when you first saw it, when he first visited your humble house, when he first saw all of you and you, all of him.

“you don’t think it’s unsightly?” he asked.

it was funny, you thought, how jing yuan cared so much about what an ordinary girl like you thought of him.

you shook your head, accepting the kiss he leaned in to give. “not at all, general. nothing is as long as it’s on you.”

the fingers that trailed down his arms have made their way onto his hair, twirling it around the finger before it falls peacefully back onto his shoulders. his gray locks are smoother and prettier than your own hair—you find yourself envious.

how is jing yuan so pretty simply like this?

fingertips graze gently over his cheeks, thumb caressing the mole below his left eye. you smile idly to yourself, stupidly dreaming about what it would be like to spend the rest of your life next to jing yuan, much like the lovestruck idiot you are.

you think maybe jing yuan wouldn’t even think that far. he has far too many important matters to think about, matters that concern the safety and longevity of the xianzhou luofu.

besides, the two of you have only been together for two years. you’ve known friends who only got engaged five years into their relationship. aren’t yours just like an infant compared to that?

“do you do this every morning or am i just lucky to catch when it happens today?”

his voice snaps you out of your delusions, your hand instinctively jumping back towards yourself. jing yuan laughs at your sudden movement, and you curse yourself for only being able to think about how good he looks when he’s happy like that, when his eyes turn into little crescents and the way his mouth curves much like a child would.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you,” jing yuan says, letting you meet his golden eyes, imitating your earlier position by caressing the side of your cheek, smiling softly at you. “good morning.”

grateful that he doesn’t harp on it, you smile right back, leaning into his palm. “good morning,” you greet, happily accepting his invitation into his arms, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. “do not ever mention that again,” you make sure to tell him, still slightly embarrassed with yourself. “and that was a one time thing.”

jing yuan catches how humiliated you are, with the way you’re pouting and speaking in hushed tones. he chuckles, taking your hand and kissing the back of your palm. “whatever you say, princess.”

it still makes your heart skip a beat—his pet names. it’s either princess, or angel, sometimes love. you love all of them. anything, as long as it’s from him.

“i am curious though,” he says, kissing the top of your head, lingering there momentarily to catch the whiff of your shampoo from the night before. “what were you thinking about? you seem happy.”

you’re not sure whether he means to tease you, because you’re at least sure he knows the rough ballpark. what else could you have been thinking about besides him? still, you entertain him anyway.

“you.”

you feel him stiffen a little before relaxing.

“yeah? what about me?”

you can just feel him smiling to himself, half happy and half teasing you, but mostly the latter. and maybe you’re just overwhelmed with bliss today that you don’t mind sharing, though it takes you a while to compose your erratically beating heart before you can say it out.

“i was just thinking… what it would be like,” you pause, hoping he won’t think you’re getting ahead of yourself, “to be with you forever.”

jing yuan’s fingers don’t stop playing with yours, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your sides with his other hand. it’s his way of assuring you that you’re not stepping over any boundaries, that he doesn’t think you’re too much. it’s his silent way of telling you don’t worry, he loves you.

“that’s what you think about when you watch me sleep, huh?” he chuckles and you know he’s teasing this time.

“jing yuan,” you call his name, strict, tilting up to lock gazes with him, “i swear if you—”

but he takes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, leaning you up to kiss him, and he makes sure it’s a long, deep one—makes sure you know how he feels. despite how it looks, he’s gentle. the pads of his fingers don’t hurt your cheeks and the way he kisses you is soft and slow, because he wouldn’t dream of hurting you. ever.

when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your kiss-swollen lips, he smiles again, with so much adoration you feel like you can melt away, like he’s your sun and you hopelessly orbit around him, like he’s your entire world.

“saying such sweet things when i’m already hopelessly in love with you,” he pauses, a low chuckle exhaled, “how cruel.”

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a grin. “i only do that as revenge,” you say, playing along.

“oh, do you now?”

“mhm, it’s your fault, really, general, for making me fall so deep so quick,” you confess, feeling your heart soar as he presses your foreheads together. “so i thought you should get a taste of your own medicine.”

jing yuan’s lashes flutter against yours as you both stare into each other’s eyes, completely enraptured. “don’t worry, you already have.”

sometimes, you’re afraid that his feelings for you have gone stale. that perhaps, with all this time apart, maybe he realises that he doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you, would do better without you.

but times like these—times where he anchors you down, lets you remember that he’s human, just like you—you know that it’s not the case. because just like you, he can be so hopelessly in love too. he can dream of you, and think of you endlessly throughout the day. even when he barely has time to correspond with you, even when he’s thinking of ways to prolong peace in your world.

jing yuan will always love you.

he clears his throat when he pulls away, looking sheepishly to the side. “you know, i was afraid of something when i caught you smiling.”

you raise a brow, tilting your head to the side, utterly confused. what would someone like him have to be afraid of?

as though he senses your question, he sits up and rifles through his side of the drawer, and you follow suit, draping your blanket over your own half-naked body. you see him taking something into his palms, hiding it before unfurling his fingers delicately in front of you.

it makes you gasp, makes you feel like maybe your heart has stopped beating for a second.

“jing yuan, what is this?”

the solitaire diamond ring glows radiantly in the palm of his hands, the scalloped band studded with natural white diamonds.

for the first time since you’ve met him, you see him being embarrassed. “exactly what you think it is,” he recovers, taking your left hand in his. “i’ve kept this for a while now, wondering when would be considered the right time.”

it’s hard for you to believe. jing yuan is a highly sought-after man. he has everything anyone would want in a husband—yet here he is, declaring his lifelong love to you. you can’t imagine that the same general who leads the luofu, the same soldier who’s protected everyone and made this peaceful life a possibility, is the same person who says he wants you.

“y/n, i knew i wanted to be with you for our entire lives from that first night we had dinner together,” jing yuan confesses, smiling just thinking about how you’d told him about your family, and about how passionate you seemed about taking care of the orphaned kids around your area. “i’m sorry we don’t spend much time together, but i’m working on that.”

he doesn’t have to apologise—you know it comes with the job. you want to tell him that, but you’re still a little stunned about all of this that you can’t get a single word out.

jing yuan’s golden eyes stare straight at you, the desire and love so apparent it overwhelms you, in a good way. “yesterday, fu xuan asked me something—what would you regret the most if the world ended tomorrow?”

fu xuan? is she in on this?

“and the answer came faster than i thought it would.” he brings the diamond ring up in between your faces, grinning from ear to ear, childlike. “it’s that i didn’t get to spend enough time with you, that i didn’t get to marry you.”

is he really about to do this?

“i don’t want to rush you into—”

“yes.”

it came rolling off your tongue before you can stop yourself, and jing yuan blinks at you, completely speechless, before he breaks out into a wide smile, hand on the back of your neck and pulling you towards him, planting a big kiss on your lips.

(jing yuan finds it amusing how honest you are; it’s one of the qualities he finds most attractive in you. every single day he finds out more and more things about you that makes him fall even more in love. you’re his every weakness and yet his every strength—you’re dangerous, the good kind.)

before he puts the ring on your finger, he pauses and clears his throat. “y/n, be my wife?”

(he figures he should ask properly, even though he already knows your answer. the grin you give him is enough to send him into overdrive, enough happiness to last him the rest of his and your long lifespan.)

“make me your wife, general.”

(and when he puts the ring on your finger, he knows. he knows that you’re it and he’s going to protect you his whole goddamn life. that he’s going to love you like he can love no other.)

“looks like you’re mine forever now, y/n.”

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Galadriel wanted to join Sauron, freely

For the sake of not repeating myself, please read this post first, because that’s where I made the case for Galadriel wanting to join Sauron of her own free will in 2x08, and where doubts arose.

First things first: Galadriel appears to be in a “trance-like state” when she looks at Sauron post-binding via Morgoth’s crown. And it’s pretty obvious why that is: she looks “enchanted” and “bewitched” because she’s in love with that evil motherf*cker, and just had a revelation;

This is what Galadriel truly wants. This is her heart’s true desire. She wants to take his offer and to join him: she desires for Sauron’s power to become hers, and to have him, as well. I made this point perfectly clear on that post (as did the show itself). 

And Sauron can't believe it, himself: look at his face. And then, he’s so happy it’s uncanny for him. This demon has tears on his eyes because he knows Galadriel will join him, at last. And he’s already planning the wedding ceremony and the honeymoon in Mordor.

And Galadriel would, indeed, have joined him, if Nenya didn’t step in and stopped her (by compelling her to jump off the cliff). This is the moment when Nenya takes over with the cringeworthy dialogue about “healing”:

This is what Season 2 has been building to: Galadriel succumbing to Sauron. This is where the all the foreshadowing is, for Galadriel's character arc in this season.

"You cannot face him alone"

In Season 2, we had three different characters warning Galadriel that she might succumb to Sauron if she faces him alone: Gil-galad, Elrond and Adar.

Similar to Gi-galad, Elrond shares the same concern, twice: in 2x01:

And in 2x02:

And why would he think that?

In 2x06, it’s Adar who warns Galadriel she might succumb to Sauron as well, because she’s acting quite smug at being able to resist him once before (1x08). 

I resisted.

For a while, perhaps.

His eye bores a hole and the rest of him slithers in.

"I cannot let him in, again"

Galadriel is consumed with finding and destroy Sauron in Season 2; and now it’s not about the death of her brother, but because she believes Sauron deceived her, and everything she experienced with Halbrand (the connection, and the situationship) was a lie and part of Sauron’s schemes of deception.

However, in her scene with Elrond, in 2x02, she’s feeling particularly vulnerable, and agrees with him and Gil-galad: she cannot face Sauron alone because if she allows him “in” again, she will succumb to him.

However, from 2x02 until 2x08, Galadriel grows bolder and more confident, mostly aided by Nenya and the visions and the guidance the ring of power provides her with. Although, I would agree it was never her intention to face Sauron alongside Elrond & co., because she goes rogue when she gets the chance and allows herself to get captured by Adar.

"I resisted"

I swear to you, High King. I will not stop until he is destroyed and I have put this right.

Morfydd Clark herself has said that Galadriel knows she messed up really bad, and is on a desperate mission for redemption. And this is why Galadriel wants to seek out Sauron all by herself.

Galadriel and Adar parallel each other on their pursuit for Sauron, and they were both consumed and obsessed by it. While Adar sacrificed his “children” to destroy Sauron, Galadriel threw Elrond under the bus (by telling Adar he’s the one who carries Nenya) just to get a chance of finding Sauron and face him herself.

Galadriel’s pride is her main flaw of character, and usually what gets her into trouble. And pride was her downfall, here, too. She believed she would always resist Sauron, not due to what he offered her last time not being enough to tempt her (it was), but because she believed him to be a deceiver (= everything he says is a lie).

"I felt it, too"

How does Galadriel feel about Sauron? Well, she hates him, and wants to kill him, and destroy him, right? Right?

Okay, I’ll just let Morfydd Clark explain how Galadriel is feeling these days:

It would be like if you had the most intense type of synesthesia, and then you met someone else that had the same type of it, but then you find out they’re the worst person in the world. But you can’t undo that feeling of what it was to be understood and connected in that way.

Galadriel is heartbroken, and understandably so. She’s not grieving the loss of Halbrand, the man she loves: she thinks she has been played for a fool, and the connection they shared was a lie, and another one of Sauron’s deceptions, the cruel and cunning sorcerer. She’s haunted by this moment, as we’ve seen on 2x02:

Everyone who has been deceived by someone they cared about can relate to this. Yes, Galadriel is sad and depressed, but she’s also angry and probably feeling a little bit humiliated and ashamed of herself for falling for Sauron’s lies. She’s going through all seven stages of grief. And so, she wants to destroy him, and make him pay for deceiving her, and manipulating her into caring this much about him. And she’s so obsessed with finding and defeat him, it blinds her.

The realization of having been played for a fool, pains her so much, here she is, in 2x06, emphasizing with Adar and oversharing.

"Not all of it"

When she seeks Sauron in the finale, she wants to kill him. She wants to prove to herself that she is able to do it, as well. She’s both angry at him for deceiving her, and at herself, not only for falling for his “lies” but mostly for harboring these feelings for him. And she’s confident in herself, she’s prepared. She knows Sauron will bombard her with lies and visions to manipulate her. There is nothing he can tempt her with, because she’s fully aware of his manipulations.

Everything changes once Sauron forces them to bind together via Morgoth’s crown: and not only “he’s in” (literally), but Galadriel can finally see it, through their bond: their connection is real, and not a part of his schemes.

And this explains why Sauron says this, next: this is him confirming that his offer in 1x08 was honest, and he really meant it. This is him declaring his love for Galadriel. This is how Sauron proved how he “really loves her”.

And she can't say no to that. She succumbs, and she is about to join him. Of her own free will, and like Season 2 foreshadowed she would. Sauron just gave her the ultimate temptation without even trying. Her believing their connection was a lie was the only thing that was preventing her from actually joining him. And Sauron just proved to her it wasn’t. He “felt it, too”.

[witch-hazels-musings]

hi pls for my crying dragon man monsieur neuvillette

sandalwood ginseng dalmation stone

hugs and kisses

Sandalwood (ceremony), Dalmatian Stone (loyalty, family), Ginsing (communication, guidance) Neuvillette x gn reader | Divination Ritual warning: reader is grabbed by the arm forcefully (very brief), heights (like really high up), kiss on the hand -- this is my first time writing for Neuvillette. I asked people for help on this and *hopefully* he came out alright!

He pulled you from the group with far more force than you expected. "Where is he?" His contorted face held little patience. His tight-lipped smile and frantic eyes conveyed who this event was significant for.

"I'm sure he'll be here any mome-"

"He better. His absence is unbecoming as the Iudex," he said, his grip intense as he stared you down. "I will not be made a fool."

With metered composure, you tapped the man's hand but he didn't release you. "It's very likely he's been delayed by something. If you'll excuse me, I can uncover what has kept him."

The man took a breath, scanned the crowd once more before letting you go. "Be swift about it."

"Of course," you said and bowed your head. He fussed with his overly decorated clothes, finely pressed and perfectly tailored - though it did little to hide the signs of gluttony around his midsection. He sneered at you before walking away to put on a show for the patrons he no doubt invited to this 'celebration.'

---

You made your way through the halls of the Palais Mermonia, stopping at every place the Iudex liked to wander - hide. When he wasn't sitting as judge, or tucked away in his office, there were a few spaces you could always find him, and if not there, then always -

"There you are," you said as you stepped onto the balcony. Though calling it that was generous. It was more of a ledge, one service member would use to clean the massive windows and - now - where Neuvillette would find solace. You didn't blame him. Being up here away from the noise was far more enjoyable than the stuffy halls and formalities.

Neuvillette was slow in registering your presence. His elegant fingers coiled around his chin, his gaze distant as he looked out across lapping waters that surrounded the Courts of Fontaine. When you approached, his apathetic expression shifted with slight surprise.

"Ah, apologies. I did not sense your approach," he said, voice even, calm like steady water. He gazed upward and glanced behind you at the warm light from beyond the turquoise windows. "I've let myself wander too long haven't I?"

You shook your head. "It's alright. As you know the party will rage on with or without you."

"Undoubtedly," he said and looked back to the landscape. You felt bad for him. A cruel existence to be tied to the fate of others - to witness them at their lowest and most vulnerable and render their judgment. It exhausted you just thinking about it but he rarely complained. You wished he would.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you joined him near the edge and looked out over Fontaine. Though heights were not necessarily your favorite thing you had to admit that in the twinkle of twilight, the view from this high seemed to make the world glitter.

"It's beautiful up here," you said and caught a faint smile on his lips.

"I am quite fond of the tranquility and stillness. It allows for a great deal of reflection."

He was right. Being completely alone and away from prying eyes was nice. Almost like a dip in cool water after a day under the sun. You closed your eyes and breathed in the moisture on the wind, the electricity of the evening, and let them mingle on your skin.

Behind you, a swell of voices rose up through the open window and you remembered what awaited you below.

"I should get back. I'll let them down easy so don't worry about joining us."

"That would be improper. I will return with you."

"Stay," you said, stopping him with a gentle hand on his arm. "I can handle them."

"I should not forsake the duties that are asked of me. Though my interests are far more idle than they may approve of, this aspect of my role cannot be forsaken based on personal preferences."

"Neuvillette, this 'celebration' is nothing more than a way to work your favor."

"How foolish. Festivities such as these would never sway my opinion in court," he explained matter-of-factly, his brows furrowing at the thought.

You chuckled. "I know, but it's just - it's how some people operate. They likely know it won't help them when it comes to the law, but there are many reasons to seem friendly to the Ludex. Connections are equally as valuable as coin in this world."

"I see." He thought for a moment. "Then what of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are your intentions holding ulterior motives?" he asked, his eyes flickering to the hand resting comfortably against his arm. You panicked and pulled it back.

"Oh, no. No! I'm so sorry, I didn't -" You flared out your palms and let out an uncomfortable noise before clearing your throat. "I'm here for you because I like - wah! No. I mean, yes, I like you but like in a way of being supportive and - like, like assisting you with your work. I'm on your side is what I mean to say. Ugh, please stop looking at me." Embarrassed, you covered your face and pressed your fingers against your brow in a desperate attempt to bring your mind under control.

Neuvillette laughed, soft, almost impossible to hear but it was enough to set your ears on fire. "'You like me?'"

"Professionally, I like you, professionally."

"I have spent countless years evaluating the words of humans. Their core truths and hidden lies and, were this be our first encounter, I may not be so confident in my evaluations."

"Forget I said anything, please."

"How can I," he said and you tensed at the sudden contact of his lithe fingers as they pulled your hand away. "When such blatant falsehoods are being uttered in my presence?"

You swallowed, stared into his intense eyes, and willed yourself not to tear free from his grip and jump off the building. This was the worst. An accidental confession to the man who was 1. your boss, and 2. as unavailable as they came. It took you months to get close to him, for him to be comfortable with you and now - now what have you done?

"It slipped out. I'm sorry," you mumbled.

He smiled, kind, patient, understanding. "There is no need. Yet I am proposed now with a conundrum. It seems a balancing of the scales is in order." Neuvillette lifted your hand to his face and sweetly pressed his lips to your middle and index fingers. "I am quite fond of you, as well," he whispered above them but his words were stolen by the wind.

When he lowered your hand toward your chest, he didn't immediately let go. Instead, he let it rest in his grip while you stared, stunned, at his chest.

"Shall we find our way to the celebration?"

You nodded but your lack of movement told another story. "Yeah, yes. We should do that."

Neuvillette's amused laugh fluttered to your ears and rattled your heart, and your legs. "When you are ready."

"Mmhm."

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[pidgeispunk]

Pedro Pascal Character Headcannons — Cuddles.

Joel Miller:

Joel can’t help but want to protect you, he revels in the way you fit so perfectly into his arms, back pressed flush against his chest. One arm drapes lazily over your waist, hand finding your abdomen to keep you close. His calloused fingers draw small circles over the skin, slipping a hand underneath the fabric of your shirt. His other arm is occupied cushioning your head, outstretched for you to rest your head on. You’ll have one hand lifted to hold the hand on said arm, fiddling with his fingers as the two of you chat quietly about whatever. Your legs are tangled with his, at some point his hand will travel down and push you back until your hips are pressed into his, fully spooning you now. His head is either pushed into your neck from behind, nose against your exposed shoulder as he inhales the smell of you. Not your perfume or body spray, you. Occasionally he’ll rest his chin on top of your head, but he much prefers burying his face in your hair, trying to get as close as possible.

Javier Peña:

It took Javier a little while to get into the habit of cuddling with you while you slept. Usually he’d just have a hand in yours, eventually letting go of it as he fidgeted in his sleep. Once he had learnt he could really trust you, that you might just be the one, he was able to admit just how bad he wanted sleepy cuddles. He expressed his love for the way your head tucks under his chin when you lay on his chest, curled up at his side with an arm draped over his torso. His arm would most likely be around your shoulders, thumb digging into the knots he could find in your shoulder blades, earning sleepy groans from your lips. One of your legs would be tossed over his, knee up by his abdomen as his other hand happily takes place holding that thigh. Sometimes he even lets you sleep on his back, on particularly hot nights when all he can do is toss the duvet away. Lying on his front with his arms folded beneath his head, your head nestles between his shoulder blades.

Frankie Morales:

You knew Frankie was a fan of cuddles right away, just from the way he hugged you. The way he held the back of your head was mirrored when the two of you were tangled up in bed, letting you settle yourself nice and comfy right on top of him. Your legs rested either side of his body, arms tucked around his torso with your hands wedged between his back and the olive toned sheets. At first his hands would be holding the plush of your waist, thumbs rubbing back and forth as he told you about his day, finding himself rambling about his helicopter for god’s sake. Throughout the night you would slump into his body, head pushed into his neck as his hands moved to your back. One hand would settle at the small of your back, occasionally running up and down along your spine. His other hand would take to your hair, fingers carding through it as he let his nails lightly scratch at your scalp.

Din Djarin:

Din wasn’t too big on cuddles, the times you slept together started as each of you just lying on your own sides on the bed. However, it eventually turned to something much more intimate, and vulnerable. Din relished in you being the big spoon, the way you would croon your head down to settle over his shoulder, sometimes pressing kisses to his bare back and scarred shoulder blades. Your arm would undoubtedly be around his waist, and you soon found he would always seek out your hand during the night. He’d lace his fingers with yours, and pull your hand right up to his chest, to his heart. His other arm would stay tucked under his pillow, a favoured position since he was young.

Dieter Bravo:

Dieter is a big fan of cuddling. The moment you two get into bed he’s wriggling his way down and between your legs, settling his head comfortably against your abdomen. He doesn’t mind where your legs were, over his shoulders, splayed down beside his body, his hands would always find your thighs. Sometimes he’s on his front, head turned sideways on your abdomen as your fingers stroke down his neck, nails tracing over the slope of his shoulders. Other times he’s on his back, arms tucked under your thighs as he feels your fingers card through his fluffy hair, occasionally humming at the way you gently massage at his scalp.

Marcus Moreno:

Marcus always want to see your face, he likes the idea of falling asleep with your features fresh in his mind. However, he’ll probably end up tugging you closer by the waist, until your head settles in the crook of his neck and he’s able to wrap both arms around you. He doesn’t miss the way you slip a leg between his, your own arms folded at your chest between the two of your bodies. His head rests above yours, a perfect position for him to be able to press kisses to the top, letting his lips linger there for a moment. He’s even fallen asleep with his mouth pressed to your head once.

[kylelovskii]

idk but now that kyle finally asked reader to be his gf, what if they were just hanging out and stuff so then kyle leaves to go do something but ends up coming back and sees reader masturbating and theyre just like a total hot mess on his bed waiting for him… just a thought bc im feeling pretty freaky atm LOL i need kyle hes such a meanie

-❤️ anon

been a while.. :3

i’ve missed writing about mean kyle, so let’s do this! 😈

the fuck do you think you’re doing?

“hey, baby, i’m gonna get some snacks for movie night, okay?” kyle told you, cupping your plush cheeks and kissing your forehead.

“okay..” you respond, closing your eyes as he plants his lips on your temple. you watched as he walked away. his white wife beater hugging him perfectly, and the way his basketball shorts hung perfectly around his waist. you’d been so desperate for him the entire day, but still so shy to even say anything. despite all the change, that old, shy, innocent (y/n) was still down there.

he shut the bedroom door behind him as he waltzed out. you knew he’d be gone for a bit. he usually likes to cook something up for the two of you on movie nights, then have extra snacks on the side. what to do with all this time?

who’s to say you couldn’t rub one out real quick? if he didn’t catch you, no harm no foul, right?

and with that last thought, you sunk more into his bed, reaching your hand down your baggy pajama pants. you pushed one finger between your folds, already so slick from just the mere sight of kyle a few moments prior. you massage the bundle of nerves between the pudge of your pussy, then push your middle finger into your hole.

you sigh at the relief you’ve been craving for the past 4 hours. sure, it wasn’t as good as kyle’s fingers, but it got the job done.

you add another finger, speeding up to make this process go faster so kyle wouldn’t catch you. kyle’s rule was, and i quote: “if i ever catch your fucking your self without my permission, you’ll be in a world of hurt, you get me?”

and you did get him, you just didn’t want to burden him when he probably didn’t feel like it. besides, it’s movie night, and why would you ruin that?

you were on the edge, so caught up in the release you were about to get, that you didn’t hear the bedroom door swing open. so caught up in how good you felt that you didn’t hear him yelling at you.

“hey! what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

you yelped, scrambling up against the headboard, staring at kyle, horrified.

“who said you could do that, huh?” he spat, slowly walking over to you, his fists clenched.

“wait— i’m sorry! i didn’t want to bother you, and—” you were cut off by the painful sting in your scalp when he grabbed your hair, pulling your face up to his. “don’t be fucking stupid. get up, strip.”

you were quite terrified to say the least, so you quickly got up and stepped back away from your fuming boyfriend. you took off your t-shirt, then your pajama pants. you stood there, half naked, staring at him.

“why are you looking at me like you can’t understand english? i said strip.”

oh. he wanted you naked naked. okay. you brought the straps of your bra down, your perky tits bouncing out. you then pulled the pink cotton panties off your waist and kicked them to the side.

“you wanna get fucked so bad? then you’ll get fucked. lay down,” he ordered, pointing to the bed. you whined and climbed on the bed, laying down, vulnerable for him.

he tugged off his shirt, then took off his silky basketball shorts and threw them in a laundry basket along with his boxers.

“i think you’ve had enough prep, yeah? being greedy all alone in here, not even bothering to ask me. you know the rules, don’t cha?” he asked, smooshing your face together with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. “answer me, bitch.”

“yes! yes i remember! i’m sorry, ky— please!” then you felt a sharp pain against your face. “i don’t care if you’re sorry. you broke a rule, and now you’ll get punished. nothing has changed,” he forcefully explained before shoving his dick inside you. you cried out which turned into a long whine.

“aw, yeah? see? your fucking fingers can’t do this, only i can.” he reached his hand up and held your neck tightly, but not tight enough to stop your breathing. he pounded into you, harder and faster with each thrust.

“hah— ky! i’m gonna— you’re—” you tried to speak, but he was fucking you so good you couldn’t even form a sentence. “no you’re not. not until i do. you don’t deserve it.”

he slid his hand up, prying your mouth open more with his thumb, and with that a small fetching noise came from his throat before he spit in your mouth. “swallow,” he demanded, and you did.

each time his cock went back inside your cunt, it only pushed you more to the edge. you didn’t know how much longer you could hold out, but then you heard a high pitched groan come out of kyle’s mouth and then a warm sensation shoot inside you. that did it for you and you hit your high, legs shaking, locking them around kyle’s waist to make them stop.

but he kept going.

“stop! stopstopstop! kyle— please, wait—” he covered your mouth with his hand to shut you up, which didn’t really work, but you stopped talking at least. “what’s wrong? can’t take it? this is what you’ve been so desperate for, right? so you will take it. shut up and take it.”

orgasm after orgasm, kyle finally let up and pulled out, but he hadn’t cum yet. he inched up near your face, took off his glasses, and shoved them on your face. lean leaned his head back, stroking his cock until he came all over your face, recreating the scene that happened at cartman’s house many moons ago.

he let out a guttural moan as he did so, sighing when he finally came down from his high.

“go..go clean up,” he slurred, flopping down next to you as you looked at him confused. “you’re not gonna help?”

“no. you’ve been a bad girl. besides, i cooked. that’s enough of caring for one night. and clean my glasses too!” he shouted after you as you walked into the bathroom connected to his room.

kyle always took care of you, but bad girls know how to take care of themselves, right?

[hwamphwamp]

melt // jung wooyoung

pairing: idol!wooyoung x gn!reader (established relationship/fluff with the teensiest tiniest bit of smut if you look past the fluff)

word count: 704

a/n: rediscovered how good melt by kehlani is and wanted to make a short little thing inspired by the song. I haven’t written something like this in years so like… please me nice I BEG

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT like oh god do not read this I will puke, cockwarming that I couldn’t quite write into the beginning the way I wanted to but it’s there, tried to keep it pretty gender neutral so everyone can enjoy it, I’m still new to adding warnings so if there’s anything else that would be good to include please let me know

———————————————————————————

"I wish I could just… live inside you."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, given the irony of his words. His body was still intertwined with yours, post-welcome-home sex, as if he was already living out his wish.

"Don't laugh. I'm serious," he murmured, voice warm against your skin.

Wooyoung had been resting on top of you for at least half an hour, his head nestled perfectly in the crook of your neck, his arms draped around you as though he never wanted to let go. The way he clung to you, his weight grounding you, it felt like home. Like he was trying to melt into you completely.

And truthfully, you never wanted him to leave your side.

You loved seeing him thrive, watching him chase after what made his heart race. But there was always a part of you—a quiet, selfish part—that wished he would just stay. You longed for the day when his things wouldn’t be scattered between two places, when he’d officially move in, and you’d fall into a routine where separation was no longer the price you paid for loving him.

Still, instead of getting lost in that yearning, you chose to savor moments like this. The moments when you were so deeply intertwined that the lines between your bodies blurred, where you couldn't quite tell where you ended and he began. These were the moments you held close—the moments when you rediscovered each other, after being apart for days, weeks, sometimes months. You let yourselves take your time, as if relearning every inch of each other's skin was a ritual meant to keep the distance at bay.

"Well, you’re kinda living inside me right now," you teased gently, running your fingers through his hair as his lips left soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone. "Not that I’m complaining, but what do you mean by 'living inside me'?"

Wooyoung lifted his head slightly, resting his chin on your chest, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t seen in a while.

"If I could build a little one-bedroom apartment right inside your heart, I would. I’d live there, forever," he confessed, his cheeks tinged pink as he shyly ducked his face back into the warmth of your neck, hiding from his own vulnerability.

You couldn’t suppress your smile as your chest filled with a warmth that was nearly overwhelming. "You’re ridiculous," you whispered, your voice playful but soft, as his laughter echoed gently through the sunlit room.

“You’re just as bad,” he replied, finally pulling out of you and shifting to lie beside you, his arms immediately opening to invite you in. "You just don’t say it out loud as much as I do."

You settled into his embrace, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. He was right. You were just as smitten, but you had always found it harder to vocalize the depth of your feelings. When you first started dating, even being held like this felt foreign, like you were drowning in too much closeness. But over time, Wooyoung had broken through those walls, patiently guiding you into a place where physical touch had become one of the things you craved most.

And while the emotional intimacy had taken longer to tap into, you’d come so far. With him, you felt safe enough to let your guard down, even if you didn’t always know how to put it into words the way he did.

"I’ve come a long way, haven’t I?" you said softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you curled deeper into his arms.

"You have," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. "And I wouldn’t change a single thing about how we got here."

In that quiet, sun-soaked space, with his arms wrapped around you and his breath warm against your skin, you knew that no matter the distance, no matter the time spent apart, this was the love that you had built together. A love that had become your safe place. A love where you could, in a way, live inside each other’s hearts.

[joelsflower]

a little thought i had let’s say i can’t sleep too and this would *definitely* cure me.

tw mature content 18+!!! a bit of anxiety (brief description of a panic attack nothing graphic), straight up porn (sos), no y/n, reader has hair but it’s only mentioned cause joel is addicted to its smell, otherwise not described, unprotected piv, veeeery lovey dovey deep sex tbh, soft soft soft dom!joel, mentions of subspace, one or two “daddy”, creampie, BRIEF breeding, overuse of petnames, reader cries a bit, thumb sucking, a bit of somno? joel fucks reader to sleep. that’s it. zero proofread first time writing smut ops

And it happened, again.

Without your control or consent, you eyes snap open and your heart jumps at an exasperated pace — just like it has been every other night. The weight of your day-to-day activities (added to your need to always give 101% of yourself to your work and lead your body and mind to exhaustion) has definitely and finally caught you.

Your thoughts start to tangle and suddenly your whole body is freezing and on fire at the same time, spiralling on a wave of anxiety; coming back to sleep is just not an option anymore. Attempting to at least hide from the cold breeze sneaking through the window and maybe calm your heart down a little, you reach your hand down to the covers, or you would have reached, if it wasn’t for the warm — and considerably larger than yours — grip around it, holding you in place.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him, bringing you back to peace. Inch by inch, moment by moment.

He’s sleeping peacefully, and it’s contagious — slowly, the sensation of him starts to guide your thoughts down, with his broad body spooning you and serving as your own personal bonfire. From head to toe, you feel safe again.

The hands that cage yours press firmly against each other, keeping you there through a hook made by his thumb invading the space of your much smaller fingers and finding its home there, reminding you that he’s not completely awake yet, but he’s with you.

It comes as a spark to the bicep that embraces your torso and pulls you closer, making your soft breasts almost spill from his hold. Suddenly, your body, mind and heart are all aware of him and nothing more — because right now, nothing matters if it’s not him; he has this power to keep you afloat in your most safe and vulnerable mindspace, and you follow him like a little bird laying on its nest.

You can feel the skin on your back almost melt as it presses against his broad chest and soft belly, warming and protecting your delicate body. One muscly leg comes to rest in between yours, molding your body into his and making the back of your thighs tingle from the hairs that adorn his. The ins and outs of his hot breath in your neck are also not helping

All you want is to let him take care of you. And at this point, he knows it too.

“Joel?” you whisper, fingers playing with his calloused kuckles. You feel the tip of his nose nudging your hair while a deep groan leaves his throat, sending colourful and shiny explosions of light down you spine and directly to your already throbbing core.

What can you do? It’s Joel. And what would your mind do if not go Joel Joel Joel Joel? When feeling the weight of his pinning you down, his beard scratching the soft skin of your neck and his rough fingers gripping your waist? After all the hard work he gives his life to accomplish just to give you comfort? For all the barriers he fought within himself just to be a better man for you? He loves you. Adores you. And you let him.

“I’m here, sweetheart” he assures, voice deep and drunk on the green apple scent of your hair. It’s his favorite. You’re his favorite. “Are you having one of those bad moments again?”

Your eyes water and you don’t answer him verbally (shit, you really didn’t want to cry), but let him know that you’re aware of his question by trying to pull your legs together, being interrupted by his own that sits perfectly in between yours — pressing forward and forcing yours open just a little more — just a little more so he can feel you, and you can trust him. He already knows how to make your pain go away, and the soppy pussy smudged against the flesh of his thigh only confirms the answer that he knows is floating in your pretty little head.

“Oh, angel,” he coos, matching his plea with a shift of his leg, taking a soft moan from you that lands directly on his heart “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Know what y’want. Gonna give it to you” he does. He always knows what you want.

“Please?” you beg, something between a moan and a whisper, as you feel his hands unclasp your own and each follow a path: the left one comes up to press against your forehead, freeing your mind from the unmerciful thoughts and nesting your skull against the curve of his neck, warm and safe and followed by soft kisses to your temple. the right one snakes up your chest and holds onde of your breasts tenderly, soothing your heart from the fear and thumbing at your nipple just to leave your head a little more fuzzy.

It does not stay there too long, tho. He brings it down to fist at his now hard cock, lining it with your needy, weeping hole. The contact of the thick tip with your lips makes you squirm under his hold, and for what seems an eternity, he keeps at that; starts down and collects your wetness with his head, letting it pool and mix with the precum bubbling there just to slowly drag it up and down your folds, up and down. Caressing your lips open and nudging at your clit, circling at a torturing pace that has your ears ringing.

After a little while, he brings it down and forces at your opening, unhurriedly stretching your tight pussy. The sensation of stretch and fullness is almost enough to send you over the edge; when you finally welcome him, mouth falling open, nails digging into his wrist and pussy ready to be fucked, that’s it — just the tip. In and out, in and out.

Which is good. But wait, is he taking care of you or teasing you? If Joel wasn’t holding his orgasm back for dear life and could answer now, he’d say he has greater purposes;

“Shhhhh” he sucks at the sweet little spot under you ear, keeping a steady pace inside of you. “Gotta do it, baby. Know you—“

“Joel, please—” you cry.

“No, hey,” he coos, using the hand on your head to twist it and hook his eyes with yours. His blow brown irises find you, and for a second you would even take just the tip the whole night if he told you to. “Didn’t prep you, did I, baby? Know you get just so tight when you’re feeling like this, hm?” you nod mutely, tears pooling at your waterlines at a unexpectedly deeper thrust, giving you a bit more of this cock. He’s so good to you.

“Shhh, none of that” he wipes one tear that runs down your cheek, “feel that? Too big to give it to you in one go. Gotta— fuck. Gotta stretch your little hole open a bit. Don’t wanna hurt you, not now. But you can’t do it, right, little one? Can take my cock just right?” The question becomes rhetorical when he slowly sinks his whole cock into you with an animalistic groan leaving his throat, “Fuck- yeah, baby you can. My best girl, aren’t you? My sweet, sweet girl with an even sweeter pussy”.

His words and girth stretching your tight walls open and making home for itself inside your hot, pulsing pussy have your head spinning. Being filled by Joel is the kind of experience that’s easily on top of any other you have in your life. Being filled, held and comforted by Joel has no price. His cock rests heavy and pulsing while occupying himself inside you, giving you time to adjust. His tip caressing sweet sweet spot deep in your core.

Still staring down into your eyes, he starts to move with very, very deep thrusts, “that’s it, baby. Took it all like the good girl you are. And all mine, aren’t you?” You attempt a nod but the thumb that circled your nipple now stuffs your mouth quiet, so the best you can do is blink the tears down your cheeks for Joel to kiss them. “I know, angel. That’s what you needed, ain’t it? For daddy to fuck those bad thoughts away? To fill you and fuck full you the way you like? Always gonna, baby, fuck—“ a particular clench of you pussy strangling his cock and he has to hold himself back again, “always gonna take care of you. Grippin’ my cock real tight, little one. Wanna cum already?”

Another nod. “Shit, cock so good got your head all empty, hm?” he murmured, more to himself, but continued his praise since it’s something you crave during those moments, “you can come, baby, whenever you want. Can’t wait to have your little pussy gushing ‘round me” he confirms his saying by accelerating his thrust just a bit, making your eyes roll and your body flirt with your orgasm. “Come on, babygirl, let go for me, hm? Cum all over my cock, angel, that’s it”

You feel your pussy spasming and gripping his length and what feels like your soul leaving your body. Your mind is floaty and your lips are hung open by his thumb while you feel your juices coat the outside of your lips and down your thighs, making a mess of your conjoined bodies. You look up at him with big round eyes and babble a “thank you,” receiving in exchange a kiss to your forehead and a shower of “I love you”’s and “you did so good to me, baby” and “who’s my girl, hm?”

Even tho, that’s not enough to distract you from the fact that besides still, Joel is very much hard inside of you. And panting on your back. And gripping your body for dear life. And as much as he knows you, you know him too. So in a matter of seconds, you know what’s about to happen, and you welcome it as a more elaborated thank you.

“Shhhhh,” he soothes one more time before starting to thrust into you again, this time more carefully hence how sensitive he knows you must be, “go to sleep now, little one. You’re okay.” He kisses you again and caresses your scalp with his fingers, the thickness of his cum-covered cock pulsing and comforting your insides and weighting your eyelids.

You’re drifted from your dreams a few minutes later though, when thick, hot spurts of his cum breed your used hole, claiming you as his, reminding you you’re safe and filled by his affection. He pants and moans at a lower volume, doing his best to not wake you up, as if the more “I love you”’s he’s spent on your ear wouldn’t dance their way to your dreams. He knows you’re feeling better now, and you know he’s going to get up in a bit to clean you up. But for now, you both know you want to stay like this for just a little more.